The week of freeloading is over. I have sufficiently squeezed out all of the generosity my parents had left in them. Sorry sis, Christmas will be bleak this year.My car (formerly my father's car until three days ago) has been packed to the brim with everything in my house I walked past and thought, "I haven't used that in three years. I need that. Put that in the trunk." This includes two sets of measuring spoons, hundreds of paper clips, and a lot of sweaters. I don't think I'll be measuring a lot of small quantities in L.A. or clipping lots of papers together. Nor do I think I'll be wearing much wool, but if I ever want to bake a cake or print a lot of documents, or the global warming thing takes a turn for the tundra...I'll be ready.
Imagine you're going on a vacation to somewhere you've never been, and instead of researching hotels or what the weather will be like or fun things you can do there, you just decided it would all be OK and you'll worry about it when it happens. That's what I did. That's me moving to L.A.
I also gained five pounds this week, so I'd say I am ready to hit the ground starving.
I know this is the right move. I know I deserve and Emmy or a Pulitzer or those other things they give to the people whose names you can't put with faces. But if I think too much about it, I know that I'll just enter the self-doubt fetal position and give Shonda Rhimes way too much credit.
So I'm just doing it. I'm getting in my car tomorrow and heading West. I have snacks. And the Ashlee Simpson album. I have faith I'll find a job. I have hope that there will be an apartment available somewhere that doesn't involve barbed wire.
Just do me a favor and don't talk to me about it. I don't want to start crying. Not in front of the Kardashians.
Mic drop,
TJB: Making It
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